


Chloe, Love is Calling You

by clairedearing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble Fic, F/M, M/M, season three, unbeated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairedearing/pseuds/clairedearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is this a thing you usually do, go dancing in the woods at four in the morning?" Peter questions, voice light and inquisitive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chloe, Love is Calling You

**Author's Note:**

> A Season Three guess fic, drabbles, all over the place. Unbeated. The title comes from a horror movie from the 1930's. Set in a verse where Jackson died during the finale scene.

After a while, and a long drawn out discussion that leads half-way to an angry fight before everyone gets ahold of themselves, the two packs decide to be one.  
  
Scott may spiritually be an Alpha, but Derek's _actually_ an Alpha. This is something that they all anticipate, so Stiles comes up with the idea for a simple solution. Instead of having two werewolves vying for control, it'll be up to a council of sorts. Lydia steps forward as Scott's second, though she's tied with Stiles, and Peter steps forward as Derek's. Derek will put an issue forward, or Scott will put an answer forward, and Lydia and Peter will debate until they come to a suitable answer. It works well, with Stiles looming over them, making sure they both play fair.  
  
This is how the Hale pack and the McCall pack become the Hale-McCall pack, and they decide early on before anyone can argue that it's going to be the Hale-McCall pack because it's in alphabetical order.   
  
But there are still complications. There will always be complications. The marks under Stiles' eyes get darker, and Scott's grades slip downward, and Lydia finds herself walking barefoot through the forest with no memory of how she got there.   
  
-  
  
The Alpha Pack works as so.   
  
They step carefully around the borders of the Hale territory, prodding barriers for weaknesses, hissing at hastily carved runes in the trees. Lydia stands at the very edge and watches as they spit at her and swipe elongated claws across the space in front of her neck.   
  
" _Immune_ ," they sing, breath hot on Lydia's face. " _Immune_."  
  
Yes, Lydia is immune.  
  
And that means she's very, _very_  human.  
  
-  
  
As it turns out, Mountain Ash does nothing to Lydia. Stiles prods it forward, urges to wrap around her wrists, her neck, but when it slides close it falls limp, rapidly receding from a pound of ash, to a small handful.   
  
"Huh," Stiles says.  
  
-  
  
Peter and Lydia meet for coffee every other day after school. Stiles still isn't very comfortable with it - Scott flat out told her he didn't approve - and she knows why. She is traumatized, she can feel it in the back of her mind.  
  
But.  
  
But, she can close her eyes and see a place much happier than today. One where the Hale house is still being built, and laughter echoes off the walls, and she can see Peter, the Peter she once knew with the soft eyes and bright smile, living a much happier life than the one he has now.  
  
She understands Peter, Lydia knows. She knows Peter inside and out. Knows what makes him tick. She's knows him from the minute he can first remember, to the moment where he was burned alive. She shared it with him, was forced to, albeit, but she still had Peter in her mind.   
  
Lydia tells him that, once. He looks at her, smile sad, and eyes weary.  
  
"Of all the things I would be capable of doing to you," he says, and shakes his head. "That is the one thing I wish you would never have to experience."  
  
-  
  
Derek is arrested, early one morning before Lydia can fully understand the implications of _Derek has been arrested._  
  
It's in that time, at four in the morning that she finds herself stepping through broken glass and splattered blood. It's not anyone she knows, but with the way Stiles is sitting, hunched over in a corner, the bars to a holding cell warped violently, she feels like it might be better if it was.  
  
"My dad knows," he says numbly, and Lydia sits gingerly besides him and waits for him to explain.  
  
(Derek is arrested for possession of a weapon of interest. The Alpha Packs weapon of interest. Early in the morning, when there is only Derek in a holding cell, and Stiles trying to convince his father to let Derek go, there comes the Alpha Pack.)  
  
"Derek's explaining all of it now," Stiles says, and Lydia feels the air shift in something that can only be change.  
  
-  
  
When Lydia realizes she's slept-walked into the woods again, she realizes she's in a vaguely familiar clearing. Early morning mist curls around her feet, and the small slip of a nightgown she's wearing does nothing to keep the cold out.  
  
Lydia does what any other person does.  
  
Slowly, with a non-existent melody, she dances, twirling through the half-dead grass, breaking twigs when she comes down from a half-hearted jump. It's like a scene from Sleeping Beauty - if the trees were dead, and the woodland animals were silent. It's a lazy sort of dancing, where she sways from side to side, and waits for the sun to come up so that she can make her way home.  
  
Except, then there are very real hands on her waist when she goes to jump, that throw her slightly and cause her to fly before they tighten and bring her back down. These are hands that aren't too tight, or too loose, but just enough to feel secure and not controlling. They don't guide her, only follow along, and hold her steady when she flies through the air.  
  
"Is this a thing you usually do, go dancing in the woods at four in the morning?" Peter questions, voice light and inquisitive. Lydia's lips pull upwards into a sharp smile.  
  
"Is this a thing you usually do, go and follow girls in the woods at four in the morning?" Lydia questions, voice heady and curious. She opens her eyes to see Peter smirking at her, and then they're dipping back, so low that Lydia can feet the grass in her hair.   
  
"Only when it's you, Lydia."  
  
-  
  
This is not a happy story, nor an easy one. This is a story where Stiles crawls into his Jeep to where Lydia is waiting with antiseptic and bandages. This is a story where Lydia takes a kitchen knife and digs it into a person's skull, a person who's not that much older than her. This is a story where Scott rips someone's arm off and can't think about the absence of disgust he feels.  
  
This is a story where Derek and Stiles dance around each other, and Scott looks at Allison with something that is not love in his eyes. This is a story where Peter kisses Lydia, slow and heavy, hands in her hair, and where Lydia only thinks for a few seconds before she responds, because what does she have left but him?   
  
This is story not limited by age, or gender, but by consent and how fast a person can kill another.   
  
-  
  
They make the mistake of thinking that Lydia is the proper one to kidnap. They assume that because she is the most human, and the most not-a-drop-of-magic-at-all that she'll be the easy bait.   
  
They don't plan for Lydia to create a sulfur bomb and kill half of them, and she nearly gets away, gets to the border line before they're on her, pulling her back. But, Lydia is smart, and quick, and it hurts, god does it hurt, but she cuts open her arm and spills enough blood to leave a long and thick trail.  
  
This is the climax, the finale, the Soprano's Aria. This is where one of them comes out on top and the other comes out dead. They tie Lydia tight this time, already learning their mistake from before. Of course, all of this takes place while Lydia is wearing a plain white cardigan that's not so much white as much as it's now red and brown and a nasty shade of yellow, and an old lace dress that's frayed so much it looks like a cat was set loose on her.  
  
But, Lydia is not going down in this without putting in her effort, and when she hears the rumble of Stiles' Jeep and the heavy footfalls of the pack, she screams out numbers and names and positions as loud as she can before someone slaps a hand over her mouth, grabs her tongue, and pulls.   
  
(Her tongue doesn't get pulled out, which is lucky, but the claws draw blood. But Lydia's been bitten and clawed a dozen different times. That's the beauty of being immune. All those bites don't do much.)  
  
It happens in a cliche rush, where Derek rips through the warehouse door, Isaac and Scott right behind him. Stiles runs over one with his Jeep, and Lydia finds it in her to smile, except her tongue is still in a death grip, but soon he’s out, a long broadsword that has a purple-black sheen to it in his hands that can only be Wolfsbane and Mountain Ash.   
  
Arrows are fired from a place Lydia can’t see, but two people go down, and Lydia thinks its nice to know that Allison and her father are willing to over look the whole ‘never going to hunt again’ thing if it comes to Lydia’s saftey.  
  
And then there’s Peter, suddenly standing over her, the hand that was holding her tongue suddenly in his grip, and he twists until she can hear the bone shatter and the muscles squish as they tear, and then her tongue is free.  
  
“It took you long enough,” Lydia snaps, and ignores Peter’s hand and stands up by herself.   
  
“There was traffic,” Peter says, sarcastically, and then she’s in his arms, rolling out of the way as the woman whose arm Peter ripped off gives a savage yell, and dives at the both of them. She misses, and Peter swings around, claws extended, and rips her throat out. Lydia blinks as the spray blood ruins her dress even more, and she thinks for a second of Kate Argent, and the blood underneath her - his - Peter’s fingernails, but instead of the panic it should bring, it makes Lydia feel warm, and safe, and tired. Peter brushes her hair from her face, fingers sticky with blood, and he kisses her temple gently. “Come now, Lydia. Let’s get you to safety.”  
  
-  
  
It turns out that Lydia passes out and misses half the fight, but Stiles has a scar at a slant across his neck, thin, but red, and Isaac’s missing a clump of hair, and Derek’s disappeared because apparently he was hurt badly. Scott comes out with little damage, but he walks with a limp that takes far too long to go away.  
  
“So,” Stiles says, as they lay on her bed, shoulder to shoulder. Her lace dress and cardigan are in the trash, ruined, and now she’s laying in Stiles’ old sweater and a pair of sleeping shorts. “Now we only have to worry about college, right?”  
  
For some reason that’s hilarious to Lydia, and she laughs until she’s red in the face, and after awhile Stiles is laughing too.   
  
They fall asleep like that, eventually, with Lydia tucked into Stiles side, and Stiles resting his chin on top of her head.   
  
-  
  
Her parents get the divorce they’ve always been threatening, and Lydia finds herself in the Hale house more often than her own.   
  
(It’ll take years to get it back to where it used to be, Derek says, grumbles, sighs.  
  
Stiles grins. That’s not the attitude. Optimism!)  
  
Instead, she insists on them getting an apartment that’s not an abandoned subway, and for Derek’s supposed birthday, she brings a set of blueprints from the county’s record office, and hands them over with a ‘better now than never’.  
  
-  
  
It happens that Lydia wakes up one morning to her face buried in Peter’s chest, hands tightly fisted around his shirt, and the sun shining on her face.  
  
This is not the life Lydia ever thought she’d end up with. This is not Jackson, and sneaking out before the sun rises, and college and then marriage.   
  
This life is werewolves and magic and dancing in forests and kisses that are chaste and kisses that are deep, touches that are heavy and desperate and sweet nothings in her ear because he'll do anything to make her feel better, even lie.   
  
But, when Lydia gets down to the end of it, strips away the factors that don’t remain, and looks at the core of it all, she really wouldn’t have it any other way.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
